


Ending the Cycle

by Azalea_J



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Blood and Gore, Eventual Link/Ganon/Zelda, F/M, Headcanon, Link has needs, M/M, Multi, Mute Link (Legend of Zelda), Playing fast and loose with the events of BOTW, Slow Burn, Zelda's a boss, bear with me, canonverse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azalea_J/pseuds/Azalea_J
Summary: It seems like the inevitable course of things, that they should be drawn together. Pieces forged and scattered throughout time, battered and yet somehow still whole. It takes them a while to hear one another, but once they do they can’t seem to turn it off.
Relationships: Ganondorf/Link (Legend of Zelda), Ganondorf/Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)/Original Character(s), Ganondorf/Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Original Male Character(s), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 30





	1. Discovery

Link came to himself slowly.

He knew he was awake, but his body was heavy and unresponsive.

He must have really needed the sleep. 

Somewhere is his muggy brain it occurred to him that this wasn’t normal. He was usually a swift riser. 

His breathing evened; shallow sleeping huffs lengthening. Becoming deep and quiet. His eyelids felt as though they were held down by stones, and it took a ridiculous amount of effort to lift them open. 

The room he was in was dark. A dim, blue light glowed softly above him.

He was wet.

His limbs protested as he forced movement through them. First he twitching his fingers, then sitting up. He found himself in a damp, empty stone basin.

He’d gone to sleep in a bath?

Wait.

He’d forgotten something.

He looked around. The chamber was roughly hewn. A pedestal stood across from him, a small glowing panel set into its face. In the shadow cast by the structure lay a chest and a doorway, the latter gaping and dark. There were no sounds. Nothing and no one around. 

Vaulting over the lip of the pool Link approached the pedestal. As he neared, as if sensing his presence, an engraved tabled ejected itself and stood erect, waiting. He took it. Looked it over.

Looked at the chest.

Inside he found a set of clothes, moth-eaten and stale.

Link felt a frisson of anxiety. His brain was shuffling off the last vestiges of sleep and had begun sorting things, and he was coming up with a staggering lack of information. 

Whomever had stored away these clothes had not meant them to be here for as long as they had been.

. . .

The sunlight was harsh, and it took him a long while in the shade of the cavern to get used to it. Blue eyes blinked furiously. Shut tight. Opened warily only to sting; vision blotted by light spots. With a hand shielding his face, he squinted out across a valley lush and overgrown.

No one. Nothing for leagues.

There was a path, so he started down it.

His bare feet, calloused and worn, were whisper soft on the packed earth.

He had no idea what gave him away—the projectile came from the left.

He turned aside, reflexes honed, and watched it sail through empty air.

An… apple?

He caught the next apple with a snap. A creature followed it, bursting out of the bramble with a chorus of screeches and howling yips. It gnashed salivating fangs at him and swung a branch towards his head. Link caught it, still holding the apple in his other hand, and ripped it away. Tossed it in the air with a mindless gesture so he could reverse his grip and slam it into the creature with enough force to crash it into a tree. 

Then he spun, brought his hand down, and felt the reverberation up his arm as he flattened the second creature into the ground.

He glanced at where his hand gripped the stick.

Flexed his fingers.

Swapped hands so that he held the stick in his left and the apple in his right.  
He turned to meet the screaming charge of the first creature and this time, when wood met skull, he smashed the creature’s head in. 

Its body hit the road with a thud and blood pooled from the dent in its forehead.

The second creature hadn’t moved since he’d dropped it. He nudged it with his foot. 

It was dead. 

Link bent and relieved it of its crude spear and broke through the skin of the apple with his teeth. He swallowed, slurping after the juices, then grunted and doubled over as a sharp pain twisted his abdomen.

His stomach reacted violently to the single swallow and he dry-heaved powerfully until the spasms stopped. Exhausted and spent, he flopped onto his back and panted. Gone was the adrenaline; the bright, burning strength. He felt shaky and sick; his skin clammy despite the humid day.

The sun slanted through the canopy overhead. Dappled his face and caused red spots to dance across his vision.

Water. He needed to find water.

And shoes.

Shoo… shoo…

Link flopped his head to the side.

Frowned.

Shoo… shoo…

Rolling onto hands and knees he crawled over to a large, leafy bush, and lifted thick foliage away.

It looked like… a tree stump with legs. With a leaf on its face.

Shoo… shoo…

The sounds it was making were snores.

Link chuckled soundlessly.

It looked… cute.

. . .

He travelled for three days and met a lot of the teeth-gnashing, screeching monsters and no other soul. The nights were cold but not frigid and there was no shortage of food to forage. Nuts and fruit. Game too, aplenty, but without the means to make fire he wasn’t going to bother hunting.

A cloak would be nice.

His body was used to hardship. In the twilight he traced curious fingers along scars and hardened patches of skin. He’d lost muscle tone during his time… asleep, but he was gaining it back quickly. 

The forest gave way to rolling foothills and he at last came across another person. A man leading a donkey up the road.

Catching sight of Link the man smiled and waved. “Ho there! Fellow Hylian!” 

So. 

Hylian. 

“Name’s Angus. Can I tempt you?” He gestured to his animal, which was laden with boxes and packs. Then Angus got a good look at him. “You look a bit worse for the road, traveler. Were you set upon by bokoblins?”

Link signed at him, quick hand movements that came without brainwork. [Sharp teeth?] 

Angus scratched his chin. “That’s them. Made off with everything, eh?” A crestfallen look passed over the merchant’s face. “Not a rupee to your name?”

[Rupee?] Link signed, and the merchant took it as a negative.

“Nothing to trade? Not even monster parts?”

Link frowned and signed.

“Oh absolutely! Horns. Organs. Teeth. Anything’ll fetch a price!”

[If I bring you monster parts, do you carry boots?]

“Oh sure. Got a bit of everything. Boots. Tunics. Cloaks. But I’m not staying in these parts long. Princess here and I are on our way to—”

[Won’t take long.]

“Ah! Wait! Uh…” Angus watched helplessly as Link walked off the road straight into the waist-high grasses.

. . .

It took much longer than expected to clear out the band of bokoblins he’d eyed camping out in the valley. Once the creatures had realized who was winning, many had fled into the meadow. As the light faded, ferreting them out had become a bothersome, time-consuming chore.

He felt good about the effort mainly because he now had a longsword. The lead monster had twirled it around in the air and fluttered it at him when Link had advanced with his battered spear, and disarming him had been simplistic and satisfying. So was running him through with his own weapon and putting an end to the bird-like cawing.

Link jumped the hilt in his hand and tested the weight. Ran his finger along the edge and frowned at the chinks in the metal. It would need sharpening, but it would serve leagues better than the spear. 

Angus jerked when Link entered his dome of firelight from the darkness without. He’d made camp by the roadside, unburdening his mule while he waited anxiously for the boy’s return. He stared in speechless surprise when the hylian dumped a hide at his feet. The flaps fell open and revealed a small mountain of organs and bones, all expertly removed.

[Thank you for waiting.] 

The merchant laughed hollowly. “I wasn’t expecting—this is—how did you—?” Angus scratched at his chin and laughed again, then stood and opened one of his caskets.

Link caught the pants thrown at him, and the shirt, and the boots. He gestured at the clothes he wore already.

“These are better. You’ve more than paid for them.

They were better. Thick and warm and soft.

The boots didn’t fit but Angus had one other pair. While he was trying them on, the merchant dug around for a bit in one chest, then switched to the saddlebags. At last he found what he was looking for. “Take this too.” He said, tossing it to Link. “You’ve more than earned it!”

The cloak was a twilit-blue and embroidered masterfully. It settled over his shoulders and covered his head like a shroud. Warm and comforting. He signed his gratitude. 

Angus scowled at the heap of monster parts. Muttered something to himself. Bent to rummaging again, and the next item he chucked Link’s way was a small pouch with a handful of gems in it.

. . .

The boots were well-worn and his feet felt comfortable for the first time since he’d awoken.

The stables were right where Angus had said they would be. Nestled in the lee of a towering brace of mountains known as the Dueling Peaks. 

The mountains stood like sentries in the early evening. On the lower slops goats grazed in the dusk.

The tent was bright with firelight. The haunting melody of an accordion drifted over the foothills. He heard voices; sounds of chattering merriment.

But all of this was relegated to the back of his mind in favor of a much more pressing sight.

A castle. Far in the distance. Visible across leagues of marshland, grotesquely huge and swathed in a dark miasma. The sight alone was alarming, but the feeling that flooded Link when he looked upon it made him tense and reach for the hilt of his sword. His mouth went dry and his heart stuttered and he had the urge to do something. React to something.

It was like being attacked by a wraith. Nothing was there, and yet the threat was real.

“Sir?”

Blue eyes flicked to the groom, and Link realized this was not the first time the boy had hailed him.

“Are you looking for a place to stay? No better place than Dueling Peaks Stables.” And with a sweeping gesture, the groom attempted to draw Link’s attention down the path towards the welcoming warmth.

[Do you know anything about...?]

“The… castle?” The boy followed the line of Link’s finger, and his brow furrowed as he looked out across the moor. He shook his head. “Abandoned.” He shrugged.

[Who?]

“Uh, the last ruling family of Hyrule, I think.” The boy scratched his head. “After the calamity.”

Hyrule.

[Calamity?]

“You don’t know about the calamity? It was before my time but there are stories—oi! Ben!”

Another groom looked up from where he was sweeping out the horse stalls. The boy gestured furiously, and with a roll of his eyes Ben dropped his broom and jogged up the hill. “What?”

“He wants to know about the calamity.” 

“Eh?” Ben squinted at Link. Took in his blond hair and smooth features. “Whatchu want to know?”

Link gestured at the castle.

It was strange, he thought moments later as he followed the two grooms down the hill and up to the stable manager’s sill, that no matter how he phrased his questions, neither groom had been able to address the sickly cloud that obscured most of the castle from view. It was as if they didn’t know it was there. Were unable—or unwilling—to perceive its… awful-ness. 

“Welcome!” Hailed the manager. “Will you be staying with us?”

[How much?]

“Twenty rupees for a regular. Forty for a soft.”

Link dumped his pouch out on the counter, and raised an eyebrow at the man.

“Not enough for a soft bed,” The manager said, sorting four blue gems away from the green. “But five more will get you supper?”

Link pushed over the last of the blue rupees.

The room was warm from the fire. Almost stifling, despite the open-air entries. A man sat at the single table situated by the fireside, eating his evening meal. Two of the beds were already occupied.

Link approached a free bed, lifted his baldric off his shoulder, and draped it around the bed post. He’d ask after a smith in the morning. As he lifted his cloak over his head, he felt eyes on his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he found the man at the table staring at him.

The man looked back at his meal.

Link turned back to his bed. Folded his cloak. 

Tension fizzled throughout his body, but the feeling was different than how he reacted to combat. The man had no weapons and his body language was relaxed. Open. There was hazard here, but it wasn’t violent. 

It could be avoided.

Like wielding a sword Link found he knew already how to handle this.

It was familiar.

…welcome.

When the manager brought over his food Link took it to the table and sat down.

Flick of eye beneath lashes.

Link inhaled the meaty gravy and thick cuts of pork and was quickly consumed by his meal. Practically drank down the fluffy, buttery potatoes and sweet, softly boiled carrots. 

He didn’t look again at the man, but after the manager had doused the last rushlight and he’d sunk into the feather-filled softness of his mattress, he felt the covers lift briefly and a solid warmth pressed along the length of his body.

He pushed back, expecting and welcoming the arms that slid around his waist and the mouth that kissed behind his ear.

“Alright?” The man from the table asked, tipping his hips forward and letting Link feel the hardness there.

How was it he knew so little about everything, and yet remembered so much?

He could sign and swing a sword. And just as he seemed to intrinsically understand the rhythms of battle, he understood how to barter subtly for this. A shared want. An eager need.

And he was needy, he realized. 

He helped the man push down his pants and bit his arm to stifle a grunt as slick fingers were pressed into him. Two to start. Easing in slowly. Curled so that they rubbed all the way down. Then a third. 

The man breathed open-mouthed against his neck. Pressed close. Barely moving. Determined to be silent in the dark. He worked his wrist and fucked Link with his fingers until Link was pushing back, little jerks to signal he was ready.

Link breathed into his own armpit as the man slicked himself and pushed inside.

Wet fingers on his hip.

Slow push. So slow. And Link shut his eyes and breathed with it. Felt himself being spread wide and open, heart throbbing in his ass, until the man’s belly was pressed tightly against his backside.

They huffed together. Link adjusting. Squeezing around the intrusion. 

He pushed backwards.

The man withdrew. Just as slow. And the drag lit nerve endings on fire. Sensation so precise it made his toes curl.

Staying quiet was clearly a challenge for the other hylian, and so he settled for a slow, rhythmic rocking. Barely separating. Steady, shallow thrusts until the sweet build crested without warning and Link pulsed thick and wet between the sheets. Mouth slack and soundless. The fingers on his hip dug deep and the man choked into his hair. 

Soft chuckle against his neck.

Link felt himself drifting, enjoying the languid warmth beneath his covers. Boneless and satisfied, he was succumbing to the fog of sleep when the man left. Dip in his mattress and sudden cold at his back.

And then he heard her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been over a decade since I’ve written a fanfic but this one wouldn’t leave me alone. I’ve been haunting this fandom for a year and was heavily inspired by the works of Starkraving, PurpleButtons0203, and Catallii.
> 
> Their headcanons have inspired me deeply and my biggest fear to giving in to my own writing was in accidentally copying their masterpieces. I have absolutely zero desire to plagiarize and I promise that if there are similarities they were not intentional. Let me know and I’ll take it down.
> 
> In closing, I have a vague idea of where I want this to go but no idea how I’m going to get there or how long it’s going to take me. I can say however, that if people are interested I will see it to the end. 
> 
> . . . 
> 
> Now go read these:
> 
> -*Interim by Starkraving (WIP)  
> -*Along For the Ride by PurpleButtons0203 (WIP)  
> -*The River Ever Runs by Catallii (WIP)


	2. The Mountain Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So halfway through writing this chapter I was struck with ridiculously unnecessary pregnancy sickness. It's just as bad as the first go round but eventually I got tired of not being productive and am doing my best to push through. Despite all that, I'm quite pleased with how the chapter turned out. I'm open to con-crit.

Her slumber was deep but determined. She gripped her prey with arms and legs; wrapped around it like a salted leech. Clung tight and maintained her hold around it. Her body tense. Her mind adrift.

She floated for years.

Time flowed around them but did not interfere with their embrace.

It had been furious, at first, murderous and determined to disembowel her. But eventually it succumbed. It grew still. Patient. Awaiting the moment her grip faltered.

Then it would devour her.

It was like the moment in a marathon when a runner hit their stride. Breath and body working together effortlessly. A pace that could be sustained for miles.

A meditation that could be maintained for decades. Centuries if necessary.

Until the runner tripped over an errant stone in their path.

Until a voice woke her from her slumber. 

Thought it felt like someone shaking her, it wasn’t tangible. It wasn’t something she heard, but rather, felt.

A feeling. An emotion.

[Link.]

Her eyes shot open.

The beast surged in her arms and she clamped down upon its reckless energy.

[Link!]

. . . 

Link darted his eyes around the room.

Someone had…

But there was no one. Soft breathing from the other occupied beds. Sounds of the night drifting in from outside.

He turned his feet out of the bed and stood. Deftly he yanked his pants back over his hips. His hand was halfway to his scabbard when the voice came again. Frantic and LOUD. 

[Link! Link! Link!]

He spun in a circle.

The voice everywhere and nowhere.

Hackles raised he donned baldric and bag and whispered out of the tent.

The stable manager had his legs propped on the counter and nearly toppled off his stool when Link passed by.

“Huh? Oh, uh… need… something?”

Link hushed him with a hand and stood still. Ears cocked he listened.

It wasn’t just that the speaker had known his name, or that no one else appeared to have heard it, it had been familiar. In the same way his sword arm was familiar with his sword. 

Crickets hummed melodically.

A horse stamped.

A trio of men clutching tankards around the fire glanced at him.

[Kakariko! – You must! – Link!]

Link whirled and the manager shrank from the manic look in his eye.

[Kakariko?] He signed.

“Kakariko? It’s… in the mountains.”

[Where?]

“Hidden, uh, they don’t let outsiders—”

Link’s fingers twitched on the smooth wooden counter, and the man all but squeaked. “North! Due north!” Then he all but collapsed, staring wide-eyed after the young man as he jogged off down the road.

One of the trip of men by the fireside sidled up to the counter. “You alright?”

“I—indeed. He was just…”

“Intense.” Agreed the man. 

They all watched as the swordsman loped into the darkness. Stride measured but fleet. Like he was used to running.

His form grew fainter and fainter as the night swallowed him.

Then he stopped.

The two men not yet standing shot to their feet. One of them knocked over the cocking pot and cursed, jumping away as sparks flew. The blond was looking off the road.

“Oh no.”

One of the men chuckled. “This won’t end well.”

The blond was eyeing a small herd of wild horses. A herd notorious for bucking any traveler crazy enough to attempt to mount them—and many had tried. The best was a gerudo who’d wound up with a sore rump. Who staggered back to the stable and laughed it off awkwardly. The worst was a male hylian who’d spent half a year recuperating and hadn’t walked right since. 

“It’s not worth it, buddy.” One of the spectators mumbled.

The swordsman wasn’t even trying to sneak up on the horses. He walked slowly, surprisingly calm after his mad dash up the road, towards the smallest of the herd. In the darkness it was hard to see, but from memory they knew it to be the silver bay draft mare. Her mane was opalescent in the shadowy half-moon, and her dam stood not far off. Eyes fixed on the man approaching through the grass.

The group stood up straighter when the blond reached out a hand to the horse, and the mare let him touch her nose. 

The two stood still for some time.

Were they assessing one another?

None of the other horses besides the dam even seemed to take note of the hylian in their midst. They slumbered, carefree and silent. 

When the horse accepted his mounting her with barely a knicker, and obeyed when he nudged her into a walk, one of the men dropped his cup. The tin hit the ground with a tink. They watched with wide eyes and wider mouths as mare and mount climbed the road, eased into a trot, and disappeared into the night.

. . .

The horse was powerful and eager. She bore Link through the night and cut the time it would have taken him to ascend the mountain by more than a third. 

She liked him. He could tell. She was ready to explore and trusted him to show her new places.

As the sky began to lighten he stopped at the base of a small tributary, where the water collected in a tiny pool, and dismounted to let her suck the water in great gasping draws. His mind wandered back to the stable where he was sure he could procure a saddle. The mare may not like it as much as his weightless form, but he had a feeling she’d tolerate it. He had no problems riding bare back, but his body wasn’t used to it. Though the pants he’d gotten from Angus were well-made, they wouldn’t stand up to the mare’s rough hide for long. Already his thighs ached with the kind of pain he wouldn’t truly feel until after a proper rest. 

He contemplated the road ahead, which had narrowed into a canyon trail. When the stable manger had said the town was “hidden”, he had expected the road to end.

If Kakariko truly was hidden, the road must either be a decoy or a trap.

He cupped his hand into the spray of water and brought it to his lips to drink.

The voice had been familiar to him. Achingly so. The mere sound of the tremulous cry had sent him into a near panic. The need to go to her, to help, wasn’t just overpowering, it was all-encompassing. But the voice hadn’t returned, and that bothered him more than the high, desperate shouting of his name. 

Who had she been?

Who was she to him? 

What had they—

[Link!]

Steel rasped as he drew his blade free of its scabbard, and clanged as it met the downward arch of a slender longblade.

He took in his assailant: A man of middle-age, with leathery skin and white hair. Pale brows drawn over fierce eyes, and more girth than height.

But he was by no means frail.

He broke their sword lock by grinding his metal against Link’s at a slant. Link turned down his wrist to avoid having his hand sliced clean at the wrist and parried the man’s next stroke. Then he ducked, as a second warrior dropped down from above and sliced where the hylian’s head would have been.

Trap, then.

This second warrior had height and slimness, and worked well with his companion. Each seemed to know where the other was and how their blade would fall. When Link dodged one attack he found himself in the face of the other. Folded hats strung tight beneath chins shielded their eyes from Link’s. prevented him from reading any strategy there. 

Link twisted and dodged. The men were trained and tried. It was all he could do to draw the fighting away from the mare who, true to her nature, seemed wary but mostly unperturbed. If her new companion died she knew the way home. 

Steel clanged on steel and Link ground his teeth as he felt his sword reverberate from the force of the warrior’s attack.

That was not a good sign. 

He changed tactics. Attempted to go under the warrior’s guard and relieve him of his weapon. 

His fellow stepped into the opening and knocked Link’s sword aside. Link turned to block the next attack and steel shattered under the impact.

Link took advantage of the warrior’s momentary shock and rushed him. He bowled him over and grappled for his hilt, using the man’s own sword to block his companion’s attack.

They wrestled.

The second warrior hesitated, looking for a way to strike Link and not his fellow.

Link felt the man’s grip on his longblade weaken.

“Mister hero!”

A small creature with a leaf on its face dropped down to hover just over the second warrior’s shoulder.

Except the leaf was its face.

“You’re a difficult one to find, mister hero!” The thing chirruped.

Something hit Link hard at the base of his skull and everything went black.

. . .

Waking up this time was not like waking up back in the sunken chamber.

Link came to himself suddenly and with a powerful headache. His throat and mouth were dry, painful, and tasted slightly of metal. His arms had been tied behind his back, bound at the wrists with scratchy, uncomfortable cord, and his shoulders were in agonizing distress.

“He’s awake.”

A cover was ripped off his head and he shut his eyes against the piercing glow of a dozen lit torches.

The two warriors from before stood over him. With heads tilted back the firelight lit features wary and pissed off, respectively. Thick, white eyebrows drawn so low they almost touched his nose, the taller of the two tossed aside the sack that had covered Link’s senses. “Who are you?” He asked.

Link’s fingers twitched where they were bound, out of sight, and he frowned.

The portlier of the two bent down to his level and spat, “He’s yiga scum, obviously.”

The second warrior sighed and looked Link in the eyes. “You’re obviously no mere traveler, lost in the mountains. If you tell us why you were looking for our village, we may show you mercy.”

The hylian’s eyes were expressive, but his mouth remained firm.

Red in the face, the first warrior pulled back his fist and slammed it across Link’s jaw.

Link took the blow. Pain radiated up his face. He glared at the warrior.

“Talk!” The man punched him again.

Link spat out blood, and glared up at the men through his bangs.

When the third blow came, Link tipped backwards and caught the warrior’s fist between his thighs. Then he flipped them both over and sent the warrior sprawling onto his face. 

A blade touched his nose and he paused in a crouch, cross-eyed.

He looked past the blade to its wielder, and stood slowly.

The warrior sprawled on the floor growled and rubbed his head.

Link didn’t take his eyes from those of his fellow.

“Oh!” 

A girl was standing in the doorway, a tray clutched in white fingers. Her hair was white also, and Link began to suspect the men he faced were younger than he’d thought. The girl was certainly not anywhere near middle-age. 

“What’s this?” Came a creaky voice behind her, and into the room came an ancient woman, hunched over and barely taller than the girl’s waist.  
The warrior with the blade to Link’s nose didn’t twitch. “Elder Impa. We were interrogating the intruder.”

“Olkin mentioned you’d caught someone in the mountains.” Impa’s eyes scanned Link impetuously. And then she paused, and her expression changed. She left the girl and came closer.

“Elder—” The warrior flung out an arm to divide the woman from Link, but she merely walked under it. 

Impa tilted her head and examined the captive. She asked, “Has he said anything?”

“Nothing, elder.” The first warrior came around the hylian and glowered at him. “Despite our… motivations.”

The elder eyed the bruising darkening Link’s chin. “I see. Might I suggest untying him.”

“What!?”

“Elder it took both of us to—”

“This one doesn’t speak with his mouth. Do you, Link?”


End file.
